Maybe Mental Isn't So Bad
by NicholeLovesPhan
Summary: A Phan Love story with a sad start. Involves cutting, parental abuse, and attempted suicide but don't worry- it all makes sense at the end! (Vlogbrothers reference ftw ;D) To be updated whenever, don't get too picky on me! Lol xD Rate M for the, ya know, cutting, parental abuse, and attempted suicide. Enjoy your Christmas present, my loves! :)
1. Chapter 1

~~**PHIL'S POV**~~

His fist connected with my jaw, and I could taste the blood. The metallic taste seeped from my inner cheek against my tongue, bitter and harsh, but sadly not a new taste to me. I manage to catch my feet, having stumbled halfway across the vast living room, and see my dad swaying and leaning against the couch, trying to get his senses. His hazy, drunken eyes found me and he began to stumble towards me, his large hands balled into fists as I cower in front of him, waiting for another blow.

Just then, I hear the door open. "Get away from him, you BRUTE!" My sister screams at him as she walks in.

He punches the wall above my head, leaving a considerable hole in the drywall, and calls my sister some choice words before stumbling off to his room, grabbing the glass of scotch that sat on the table on his way. I have to hand it to him, even though he's the worlds worst father, he doesn't lay a hand on her. Instead, he sticks to mental abuse, and trust me, she doesn't deserve a word of it. She's beautiful, smart, and sweet, on her way to Yale to become a doctor, full tuition and everything.

"Thanks, Lilly. I don't know what I'd do without you…" I whisper. Her face goes dark, a mournful look gracing her cheeks, her emerald eyes taking a solemn tone to them.

"I'm not sure either. I'm worried what he'll do to you when I'm gone… Let's not dwell on that. Come on, let's get you fixed up." She pulls me up from where I had slid down against the plush carpet and leads me to the marble bathroom.

She sets me down and wets a fluffy white hand towel, brushes my black hair away, and begins to dab at a cut above my right eyebrow that appeared from the clunky school ring he hadn't bothered to take off before beating the shit out of me. I wince as the cool water stings the cut and my blood is soaked up into the towel.

"Oh, sorry Phil!" She tells me as she pushes a piece of her long auburn hair behind her ear, but still continuing to clean my wounds. I don't get how I'm related to someone so perfect, while I'm so… me.

"It's okay. It's not your fault. You're not the one who did it," I say, sneering in the way of my father's room.

"What got him so mad? I haven't seen him that angry since you nearly failed Ms. Norman's math class last year."

"He saw the D I got on my bio test. I'm retaking it Monday, so I wasn't too worried, but… he found it." I sighed. The only thing he cared about in our lives is that we get good grades and don't embarrass him, something my sister excels at and I frequently fail.

"Oh, Phil…" She says, pity lining her words. "You know, I could help you study."

"No, Lilly. You need to keep your GPA up. I can't take you away from your homework. You already have your hands full with crew and your super-smart classes'homework. You can't lose your scholarship. I'm already wasting enough of your time letting you bandage me up."

Lilly just stays silent at that, a slight grimace on her face. I hear her whisper to herself "I'm not wasting my time," as she smears Neosporin on the cut and walks away.

I go back into the kitchen, grab my bag, and head up the garish staircase to my strikingly plain room. Even with how rich he is from his job, my dad never bothered to buy me anything special or new, just enough so I wouldn't look sloppy. I flop onto my bed and situate myself, putting my ear buds in and my geometry homework on my lap. I'm supposed to be doing my homework, but instead I just sit, thinking, with the familiar songs of Muse playing from my simple IPod.

I think about the faint memories I have of my mom, a tender woman who was always an older version of my sister. The memory that really sticks of my mom, however, is not a kind one. I was six years old, sitting in the back of my mom's car, listening to her talk to her coworker about a project she had been working on. All of a sudden, the breaks squealed and my mom screamed; her head turned towards her left, the phone falling to the floor.

Then, a huge force struck my mom's side of the car. I remember being scared and crying, the white walls of the hospital, the look on my dad's face as he broke down right in the middle of the hospital, right in front of Lilly and I, after they told him my mom didn't make it, that the surgery didn't work and she died from her injuries.

I remember the funeral, a closed wooden casket. Me leaning into Lilly and sobbing, her head resting on mine, her tears soaking my hair, and my father sitting stoically beside her. What I remember most vividly, however, was after the funeral. We hadn't even changed out of our formal black clothes into pjs before he opened a bottle of whisky, downing half the bottle before approaching me and shoving me against the wall, my feet a yard away from the floor, while he screamed in my face that it was me who caused my mom's death, like a 6 year old could even have that power. I also remember promptly pissing myself in fear before he threw me on the couch, where Lilly collected me, cleaned me up, and sent me to bed, acting much more grown up than a 9 year old should have to be.

I wonder what my life would have been like, if my mother had lived through that crash. Would my dad still be abusive? Would I hate myself so much? Would my sister be happier?

Or, alternatively, what if I had died in that crash?

_POOR PHIL D: I feel so bad for him, but it had to be done. I can actually relate to both Phil and Dan in this story, Phil having a mother-like sister and Dan having, well... you'll see what lands him in there soon enough. This will be updated on Tuesday and Saturday :)_


	2. Chapter 2

~~**DAN'S POV**~~

Their words ring in my head, clear as crystal, as I walk down the busy London street towards home.

"Have a new boyfriend, gay boy?"

"Hope you like it hot, cuz all the queers roast in hell!"

"Nice hair, flamer!"

"Hey faggot, God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!"

None of their jeers were very original, but it wasn't the words that stung- it was the intent. They wanted me to suffer- to feel a pain because of a personal thing they don't understand. They put hate letters in my locker, signs on my back, spread rumors around the school, and the teachers don't say a thing.

It was never supposed to get out. I was going to stay in the closet, wait until I was in college and on with my life before I told anyone. My ex boyfriend, though, had no such qualms. He's out and proud of it, and so when I told him that I didn't think it was fair of me to keep him in the closet about our relationship because I am, he burst out to the whole entire school, "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE BREAKING UP WITH ME?! HOW COULD YOU?! I THOUGHT WE HAD SOMETHING, DAN!"

He outed me to the whole entire school, and I had no defense. All I did was run into the bathroom and cry, knowing full well there was no coming back from this, that everyone knew I dated boys.

My three tormenters, Evan, Chris, and Isaac, had a ball with this. Even though it was over a year ago, they still attack me relentlessly on the topic. While they've only beaten me up a few times, I get mental tormented by them every single day I'm at school, and they've cost me every single friend I've ever had.

At least I'm home now, and while I have to hear vicious amounts of bible quotes from my mom, nobody beats me up, so it's definitely a plus. I slip the small golden cross out of my bag and onto my neck, so my mom thinks I was wearing it all day.

I step in through the flat door, revealing the tiny living room. There's one thing that shocks me, however- my parents are sitting on the couch, staring at me.

"Sit down, Daniel." My mother barks shortly. I sit on a chair from the kitchen table, only a few feet away from the couch, the back of the chair and a coffee table the only things separating us. My heart's beating fast, and my breath is short. I don't think I've ever seen my parents together, off of work, waiting for me. Whatever it is, it must be huge.

It's then that I notice a few pieces of printed paper and recognize them immediately- my chat logs with the only person I ever even talk to anymore- KickThePJ, a dude I met over Chat Roulette a year ago. He lives up north, a few hours away. He's not only gay, but an atheist as well, just like me. He understands when I tell him my problems, and he's the only person I've told myself that I'm bi. He's the only friend I have left, and we chat over Skype every day. To see my conversation with him printed and on my coffee table worries me even more- last night I went on a rant about how much a fundie my mom is, exposing not only the fact that I'm an atheist, but also bisexual. This is my worst nightmare.

"Now, Dan," my mother starts, "There are many great therapists out there that can fix this disease you have-"

"Mom, I don't have a disease."

"But you do, honey! Homosexuality is a disease. I called our pastor, and he said he'd not only set us up with an ex-gay therapist, but also have private bible studies with you to rid you of this 'atheism.'"

"Mom, I'm not going to ex-gay therapy, and I'm not going to a bible study with our pastor!"

My mothers eyebrows shoot up at that. "Oh yes you will! I will kick you out of this house before I have a gay son!"

My father joins in at that. "Lucy, we want to fix him, not kick him out of the house-" he starts.

My mother and I start screaming at the same time, her insisting that she would not have a gay son, and me shouting back that I'm bi, not gay, and that she won't change me, that I am what I am, that it's impossible to change someone's sexual orientation.

Then, my mom drops a bomb on the flat, all remnant ties held between us are, quite frankly, torn to smithereens. "I'D RATHER HAVE A DEAD SON THAN A GAY ONE!" She spits in my face. We all go silent, one could hear a pin drop against the cold tile.

I don't say a word, just turn and take the few quick strides it takes to get from the kitchen table to my bedroom.

"Daniel!"She calls to my turned back. "I didn't mean it! I'm sorr-" She begs upon deaf ears, my door slamming in her face as I closed it behind me and locked it. She shakes the doorknob, trying to open it, but unable, considering I not only locked it, but also have the only key able to open it.

"DANIEL!"She screams. "YOU WILL OPEN THIS DOOR! I WILL NOT BE IGNORED!"

Despite her demands, I ignore her anyways, waiting for her to give up. She finally does after a minute or two, and I finally let the hot tears spill over my cheeks, staining my face. I cry silently, not allowing any noise to escape my shaking lips. I've been outed, again, by my own stupid mistake.

_You'll find out my secret, like Dan's, next Saturday. I hope you're all excited for chapter 3, appearing on Tuesday!_


	3. Chapter 3

~~**PHIL'S POV**~~

I have an ominous feeling my house would be better, that my father wouldn't have anyone to point his blame towards, my sister wouldn't have to take care of me. In fact, that applies to now, too.

If I died today, it wouldn't affect my sister too much. She's already taken her SATs, been accepted to Yale, and she has her friends to lean on. She'll be fine, she'll be over my death by the time she's to be off to college.

She's the only person who will miss me, and I'm a burden to her. My father hates me, I haven't any friends, and the few family members we have I haven't seen in years.

I don't know how I haven't thought of this before; this is the best idea I've had in a long time. I hate my life. And when I say hate, I mean it. All I do is get beat up by my dad, harped on my teachers, or ignored in the halls. I don't have much of a future, either. There's pretty much no way I'm getting into college, not with my crappy grades. The only thing I can do is write stories, and even then, they aren't that good. The only other thing worth living for is love, and I'm positive I'm never going to find that, either. Nobody would love awkward, traumatized, gay me. Yes… gay. I'm technically in the closet, but I don't really have anyone to come out to, besides Lilly.

Lilly… would she be the person to find me? Probably… I mean, I barely ever see anyone else besides for when I'm in school or my dad's whaling on me. I hope it doesn't traumatize her too much. I always thought suicidal people were misguided, clouded in mental illness, but I don't think I've ever thought so clearly, or had so much purpose.

I check the alarm clock sitting on my otherwise barren bedside table. The analog hands tell me it's 4:57. Lilly typically makes dinner at 6, and she's done at 6:30. I slip into the bathroom, quickly, and stare into the medicine cabinet.

A few orange bottles line the shelves, along with some more generic drugs like Tylenol. I spot the Vicodin they gave me when my dad completely shattered my knee. I don't even remember what we told the doctor what happened, I was so loopy from all the pain meds they had me on.

The bottle's still half full, but I worry it's not going to be enough. I remember that my allergy medicine is pretty strong, and a couple pills can land you in the doctor's office. _Perfect_, I think to myself, and grab the bottle. I snag the bottle of Aleve on the way out, just in case I still don't feel like its enough.

I take the short trip from the bathroom back to my bedroom and sit down on the bed. My hands are shaking violently as I set the trio on my nightstand and grab the bottle of water I had bought barely drank a sip from out of my backpack.

I close my eyes, and breathe slowly, trying to calm myself. I reach for my IPod and while I don't listen to them often, I switch to the song "Heavy Hangs The Albatross" by Alesana. It feels appropriate, for the situation, considering the fact that I'm killing myself.

I'm killing myself. It sounds so weird, so weak, when I think of it. I'm still doing it, nothing can stop me from going through with this decision. I'm confident now, twisting off the top to the bottle of Vicodin and taking them as quickly as possible, the little white pills slipping down my throat in pairs.

I must have taken 20 pills, but I'm still worried it won't be enough. I slip open the bottle of Zyrtec, and start to down them as well. About 15 in, I feel the effects of the Vicodin kicking it, and all I want to do is lay down, to close my eyes and sleep.

I begin to set myself on the bed, but realize I didn't write a note. Shit. I'm not leaving Lilly without some kind of goodbye. I grab a piece of paper and scrawl out the words I wish to tell her, my handwriting getting sloppier and sloppier by the second as my body fills with more and more of the painkillers.

I finish quickly, and drop the pen and paper on my bedside table, knocking over the Zyrtec and spilling it across the glass top. I don't care anymore, lying down against my bed. I don't think anything's ever felt this comfortable. My lids grow heavy, my cheeks hot. I bury my face into the pillow, my breathing drawing in shaky and slow, a weird rhythm in my chest. I curl up in a ball and feel the pills start to take full affect, pulling me under. I take one deep breath, my chest racking against it, and savor my last conscious breath. I wonder…

_That was really hard to write. I have a... History, let's call it, and so it kinda brought back some memories but I think there aren't enough stories like these, so I stuck with it. Dan's is going to be harder, because it's far more similar to my history, but... Yeah. :-/ see you tomorrow if you read A Modern Love, otherwise, see you Saturday!_


	4. Chapter 4

_I know, another update today when I haven't in months? Idk, guilt I guess. Plus, I really want to share this chapter, it means a lot to me. That's not really a good thing, but I can't change that. Enjoy._

~~**DAN'S POV**~~

I'm shaking, violently now, the tears racking my whole entire body. Every single thought in my mind is those ten words she slipped past her lips, dripping with hatred. _I'd rather have a dead son than a gay one._

What type of horrible person would say that? What kind of _mother_? Not one that loved their son. Not one that would ever accept their son.

Pain is the only thing I feel right now. I think back to my razor, hidden within these four walls. It always helped me; I could always imagine the pain flowing out with the blood.

No. I won't do it. I promised PJ I wouldn't; he always worries about me when I relapse. But then again, he doesn't have to know… I reach under my bed and pull out my favorite book, _The Great Gatsby_, flip open the front cover, and see it in all its gruesome glory.

It's shines at me, whispering of its healing power over me. I reach for it, hesitant at first, my fingers hovering over it. I press my finger down upon it and slide it down the page, taking it off at the edge. The cold metal, familiar against my skin, takes hold of me then.

I pull back the sleeve to my black sweater, revealing the light brown lines that mark my skin, scars of old battles, of old healings. I draw it against my forearm, horizontally, right in the center. It's not enough, though, and I draw the razor across my arm again.

The pain still fills me, but it's not enough. These two superficial lines aren't drawing my pain away from me as they always have. My one coping method, my one fix, isn't working. I take a breath, cover my cuts, open the door and take the few steps from mine to the bathroom. My mum is in the kitchen, cooking, and she hears my door open. She only gets out a few words before I slam the bathroom door behind me. Walking in here was a bad idea. I knew I was going to hear her voice again, be ripped back so that the few fresh scabs that had formed over the pain she caused would be ripped off, the tears would begin to flow again.

I can't stand it, all this pain I'm feeling. I don't do a thing, not a single goddamned thing, before I'm pulling my sweater up, then completely off for extra room.

A bit of fuzz is stuck to the semi-coagulated blood, but I ignore it, instead slicing next to them, exposing more blood. My feelings of pain still feel just as fresh, and so I draw it against the soft skin of my arm again, deeper. It's bleeding heavily now, and is so deep I can see the layer of fat under my skin. The crimson flows from my arm and begins to drop onto the floor.

The pain is helping now. A searing pain is coming from where I sliced deeper, and I close my eyes to cherish it. The physical pain seems to soak up my emotional pain like a sponge, and it feels so good, at least for now.

I'm still in misery, however, as I open my eyes. The pain's only chipped off the tip of an iceberg, just enough that I can't get enough. I slice again, deep. Blood begins to pool on the floor and I watch it, dripping from my arm and spreading like a fog against the white tiles.

It dawns on me that I'm killing myself, I'm losing far too much blood. I don't care anymore, though. My life is crap. Everything would be easier if I were dead. I wouldn't be bullied. I wouldn't be friendless. I wouldn't be forced into ex-gay therapy. I'd be dead. Nobody can force me to do anything, or say any single hurtful thing to me that I'll have to grin and bear.

I start to cut again, moving to my right wrist. I drag the metal against the small veins, watching my blood spill. My razor's covered in the sticky mess, and my wrists are no longer a smooth, pale flesh color; but a painful, ragged red. The blood is covering the floor, but my veins still produce.

I'm swaying now, intensely. My vision begins to cloud, and I fall on my face in the puddle of my own blood, my head bouncing on the tile before I lie still against it.

The very last thing I hear before I fall unconscious is my mum screaming.

"Daniel? What's happening in there? Daniel?! DANIEL!"

I hope it's the last thing I ever hear.

_I'm sorry if that made you upset or anything (not my goal at all but this story is a little sad the whole way through.) I'll update soon!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey guys! New chapter. I still have some to work on the next chapter of A Modern Love, so don't be expecting that one, but soon! I thought you guys deserved this with the cliffhanger i left you with... :/ Enjoy!_

~~**LILLY'S POV**~~

"Phil! It's dinnertime!" I call up the stairs towards his room. I hear no answer, not even the stirring of him putting his laptop down and walking towards his door. This definitely feels off. I hope he's okay, he seemed so sad earlier. Typically after Father attacks him he's mad or fearful, but today he was just sad and quiet.

I pad up the stairs, holding two bowls of mac n' cheese. I figure we can eat dinner in his room and talk. We haven't talked in a pretty long time, and I figure it's time we had a nice conversation, and on something other than what pissed _him_ off this time.

I reach the top of the stairs and walk to his door, knocking on it briefly. He still doesn't answer. I'm getting worried now, but I push it down and open the door. I shouldn't have pushed it down, because it just comes up with even greater force as a blood curdlingly vicious scream passes my lips.

Phil, my little brother, the only true family I have left, is curled in a ball, a couple of empty pill bottles by his bed. I toss the food at the wall, not caring what happens to it, as I rush over to him. My heart is racing as I check his pulse, all my hope and energy going into him still being alive. My fingers press into his neck and I can feel a weak pulse. I don't know if there's a God or not, but if there is, I owe him big time. I pull out my cell phone, dial 911, and put them on speaker as I pick him up off the bed, lay him on the floor, and begin to check if he needs CPR. He's not breathing. I check his airways, and he's still not breathing.

"999, what's your emergency?" A woman says urgently, only seconds after I called. But then again, seconds may be all he has.

"My brother has tried to commit suicide by overdose and now his heart beat is extremely low and he's not breathing. Send an ambulance to 58 Cherry Street immediately." I said, my voice shaky but still clear. I mentally thank junior-year me for taking First Aid and CPR, so at least I know what to do.

"Oh dear lord." I hear from the receiver. "I'm sending an ambulance your way, it should be there shortly. Now, I want you to stay on the phone with me while you wait."

I breathe into his mouth and return back to compressions quickly before responding. "Yes, thank you."

"Do you know how to perform CPR?"

"Yes, I am right now."

"How is he responding?"

"Phil's not moved or breathed, but he still has a pulse."

"The ambulance should be there soon, keep doing what you're doing."

We continue on like this, her keeping me calm until the ambulance arrived.

I hear them knock down the door and call out into the house. "Ambulance!"

"He's up here!" I call down, and hear them rumble up the stairs, practically breaking his door.

They take in the scene quickly, my brother lying on the floor and me, pumping his chest like not only his, but my life as well, depended on it. I guess it does, in some strange way.

"Step aside, miss." A man is his early thirties instructs me. "We'll take it from here."

They begin to strap him to a stretcher and hoist him down the stairs.

"But what about me?" I ask, worried for my brother's safely.

"Follow us in your car. I'm assuming you have a car, yes?"

"Yes, I have a car." I say, tears welling up in my eyes as it finally sinks in what's happening. Father doesn't make a sound, probably passed out drunk again. I don't care, all I care about is Phil. Just before I leave the room myself, I see a sloppily folded piece of paper bearing my name and I grab it, sliding it in my jeans before sprinting after them.

"What of your parents?"

"My dad isn't here right now." I say, turning away as I grab my keys and wallet while they begin to load him inside the van. It's not a lie. He's not here mentally, only physically. He would only be an intrusion.

They pile in as I hop into my car, making sure to have closed the door to the house before having left. They start off down the drive and I follow close behind, the loud alarm distracting me from the pain I'm feeling. We finally reach the hospital, and they pull him through the emergency doors while I head into a waiting room, praying to a God I don't really believe in that he makes it.

I'm sitting in a cool plastic chair, in a cold tile room, waiting to see if my brother's dead. The paper in my pocket feels like it's burning a hole straight through my jeans, and so I slip it out and open it up.

_Lilly, I'm sorry if I've hurt you in doing this. You're the only person who cares about me at all, but I'm a burden to you. I want you to have a life, a happy one, where I'm not taking up all of your time. I'm sure you're going to do great things. I love you. Don't miss me too much. -Phil_

Maybe I shouldn't have read it. At least not read it here. The tears I've been fighting back rise to the surface and I'm sobbing, right in the middle of the A&E waiting room. Know what? I don't care. I should cry. My brother just tried to kill himself and I still have no idea if he'll make it or not. I should cry. The salty tears begin to slow and racking sobs have turned to sniffles as a pudgy; seemingly lower class woman enters with her demure husband.

She's making a huge scene, clutching the cross she held around her neck. She's decided to sit, well, rather kneel, next to me, and I notice red staining her clothes and hands. Blood, I note to myself. I can hear her prayers, spoken aloud rather than mentally.

"Dear Lord, please save my son. I know he will burn in hell for his sins if he's not given a chance to repent! Oh please Lord, give Daniel the strength to make it through so I can fix him."

I'm utterly appalled by her prayers, the harshness she has over her son. "Miss, could you keep it down? Or at least, humble me and not say such vile things about your son who I'm presuming is dying in the next room over." I know I was a little disrespectful, but the way she talked about her son reminded me too much of my father for me to care what the hell she thinks.

She gawks at me, her eyes wide. "WHAT did you just say to me?" she starts, her husband's eyes, staring at me, wide, like I just tried to kill a polar bear with a rock. "I'll have you know my son just tried to KILL HIMSELF today, and you're insulting me?! How DARE you!"

I sneer at her, annoyed by her melodramatics. "My brother, the only person I have anymore, is in there getting his stomach pumped of pills right now, so don't try and play the pity card on me! We're in the exact same spot. I'm trying to read his suicide note, possibly the last thing I will ever hear from him, and you're going on about how you want your son to make it just so you can 'cure' him of whatever sins he's come across. I think you have bigger problems to worry about than his sins. His mental health should be more on your mind right now!"

She has no answer for me. She gets off her knees and sits in her chair, clutching her cross, her head down low and her eyes shut. I can't decide if she's thinking, or she's praying again.

The nurse sitting at the desk looks at me in awe, as does the woman's husband. I avoid their glances, instead staring at the single piece of paper I have, some of the words muddled by my tears. I hope beyond hope that Phil makes it. I don't know what I'd do without him.

It's then that I realize; I do have something in common with this devout woman- we are both hoping beyond hope for a miracle for our loved ones. I'm musing over my philosophical thoughts when a nurse comes in, tall, sweet, and authoritative, and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"You're with Mr. Lester, I hear?"

"Phil's my brother."

"Well, I'm pleased to tell you your brother had made it, and while he has slightly lower-functioning kidneys now, he should be perfectly fine, physically, soon."

I only hear 5 words of that sentence- "Your brother has made it." And I start to cry, of joy this time, wrapping my arms around the nurse as I tell her, "Thank you." She hugs me back, letting me have my emotions.

_Its the weird chapter! Hopefully I'll finish that chapter up... I don't know, I just don't like how it came out. I should just suck it up and post it... I don't know. What do you guys say?_


	6. Chapter 6

_New Chapter! Woo! Are you excited? Well it's not super exciting so no real need to be... but still! :D_

~~**PHIL'S POV**~~

I wake up and crack my eyes open slightly. Anger, shame, fear, and disappointment floods me immediately. It's a flurry of emotion for such a short period of time, and I just feel bogged down.

I try and sigh, but then a burning pain comes from my throat, bringing tears to my eyes and turning my sigh into a gurgled scream unexpected pain.

"Oh, Mr. Lester! You're up!" A woman rushes in, maybe 25. She's extremely tall, over 6 feet, even in sneakers. Her brown hair sways against her nurse's scrubs as she rushes in to my attention, resting her hand on my shoulder, her medium brown eyes extremely soothing. I'm not sure what it is about her, but she has an authorial yet kind air about her that makes her a wonderful nurse. I get a feeling she'll be a wonderful mother. What she called me, however, sets me back and puts a scowl across my face. Her happiness dampens at this.

"I take it to be called Mr. Lester?" She asks. I shake my head. " Most teens don't. How about Phil?" I smile at this, letting her know I do, in fact, like to be called Phil.

"Okay then, Phil. I'm Nurse Kaytlin, and I'm going to be taking care of you. Do you know why you're here?" She asks, sympathetically. I nod.

"I know you're probably not too happy to be here right now, but I believe you will be soon." She said, a smile on her lips. I grimace at that; complete in my decision she is, in fact, wrong.

"I'm certain that face will change. Now, because you tried to commit suicide, you have no choice but to be admitted into the adolescent mental ward for a minimum of 5 days." I go to speak but just make a whining noise as pain engulfs my throat once again.

"Oh, yes. You have no choice. Mental health can be even harder to fix than physical, however I see you aren't lacking in those, either." She says, motioning to my yellowing bruises. I shove my arms under the blankets to hide them, even though she's already well aware of them. "I'll have your therapist talk to you about that. And as for your voice, Phil, that should be better by the morning. They had to stick a tube down your throat to get the pills out of your stomach."

I just lower my head, wanting to ask so many questions but having no way to ask them. "I'm from the mental health wing of the hospital, so I expect to see you soon. This is Mark, a med school intern. He's going to wheel you to your room while I go meet the boy who's going to be your roommate."

I gulp at this. Roommate? I hope he's not too insane.

Mark, however, is pretty nice. He has a guttural southern Scottish accent and black hair that swoops to the side, a bit like mine but less long. He makes small talk after situating me in the wheelchair, about how people in the adolescent mental ward aren't bad, and how at least I'm not heading into the adult one, where there are really crazy people. As he says, these are just people, "halfway on their way to be the people in the adult wing."

We reach my room and he sets me into my bed, to which he ruffles my hair and tells me as a parting word that I'm "a good kid, and he hopes I get better soon." And informs me that if he has some free time on a break or something, he'll come visit me.

I don't keep my hopes up that he will. He probably says it to everyone, to be kind. I lay there, thinking, sipping the tea they set on the side of my bed. It soothes my throat as I wait to see who my roommate will be.

~~**DAN'S POV**~~

A hand shakes my shoulder as I fake being asleep.

"I know you're up, Daniel, I can tell by the smirk on your lips." She says sternly, but with just enough joking to be funny.

Shit. I really don't want to be awake, or alive for that matter, but I open my eyes and turn my head towards her.

"Ahh, I see you've decided to ditch your charade. Nice to see. I'm Nurse Kaytlin, and I'm going to be attending to you. Do you know why you're here?" she asks me.

"I sliced myself open enough to leave a huge puddle on my floor."

Her eyes widen at that. I'm sure she's never heard someone be so blunt before. "Yes, you did. Now, self-harm is not always meant with suicidal idealization, but with your case we're not so sure. So I want you to answer me truthfully, Dan- were you trying to kill yourself earlier tonight? I need to know so we know how to treat you. And I can already tell you're a trickster, so don't tell me no just so you don't end up in the mental wing, because you're headed there no matter what."

I'm quiet at that. I look at the stiches in my arms, ones that burn when I twist my wrists. At least all the deep cuts are higher up, or else it would suck to do anything. I decide to tell her the truth. "Not at first." I say. It's short, sweet, and not a lie.

"Thank you for your honesty, Dan. I appreciate it." She says, a softer look coming over her eyes. They're a bit lighter than mine, and very gentle. While she was a bit stern with me a bit ago, I have a feeling I'm going to like her. She's down to earth.

"You remind me of my friend, Dan." She says, and now it's my turn to have my eyes go wide.

"What happened to him?" I ask, hesitant.

"He killed himself because his mom didn't accept him. Much like you, except he didn't make it. I miss him every day, Dan. I'm sure there's someone who will miss you."

First my mom runs across my mind, and how pissed I am at her for telling everyone my sexual orientation, then thoughts of PJ. He must be worried about me, typically we talk by now.

"What's with the anger, Dan?" She asks, puzzled.

"My mom told the whole hospital about me, didn't she."

"She kind of did, yes. I can't lie to you there. No one from the adolescent mental wing heard, however. The only other person who was admitted today was getting his stomach pumped. He's actually to be your roommate, and speaking of your room, I'm going to wheel you up there right now."

She goes to help me into the wheelchair sitting beside me, which is when I notice the blood bag and saline drip inserted into my arm.

"Yes, Dan, you lost a lot of blood. We really don't want you moving much at all until tomorrow morning when we can get your vitals back to normal. Now, will you hold the metal pole as I wheel you into the elevator? It's on wheels, you just have to hold it."

"Okay." I respond. We're off, up the elevator, and heading down the adolescent mental wing hall. I don't get a glimpse of anyone in the hall, but I remember it's almost midnight so they're all probably asleep by now.

She wheels me into my room and I see a boy about my age sitting in the bed across the door. His soft blue eyes widen as he sees me, trailing after me as I'm wheeled past him. He's handsome, a little childish-looking, and pale, with yellowing bruises covering his skin. I know those bruises, the bruises of abuse I used to see frequently on my friend before she moved away, before I got to tell anyone about what was happening to her. It saddens me to see them across his skin, a sadness I'm not quite sure I understand why I bear.

Kaytlin helps me into my bed, and while I want to talk to this boy, find out all the things that lie under that sad exterior, I'm too tired for it. Once I'm settled in, I fall asleep right away.

_OMG Dan and Phil met! :D Okay not really but still I still really like it._

_And Mark isn't just some random, he's a youtuber and I love him even though right now he only has... 3,557 subscribers. He watches Dan and Phil and is generally amazing and honestly one of my favorite youtubers so if you go watch and subscribe to him I'll make you the internet version of my family's top secret cookies. (They're delicious.) Anyways I'm rambling so byeee_


End file.
